


Miles between us and miles to go.

by jessahmewren



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, MSR, Pre-X-Files Revival
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-07
Updated: 2017-12-13
Packaged: 2019-02-11 17:48:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12940497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessahmewren/pseuds/jessahmewren
Summary: Mulder sees Scully through a difficult time.





	1. Chapter 1

 

-0-0-0-

You have reached the mailbox of---"

"Shit." Mulder shut the off the phone in disgust.  _Twelve times_. Twelve times in the last two days he had tried to reach Scully, only to be shut down by an impersonal, prerecorded message. Had it been her voice on the recording, maybe he would've felt a little better. Or possibly worse, depending on what reason he was considering on a given day for her not wanting to speak to him.  She was supposedly out of town visiting her mother.

Fox Mulder sat on a battered green park bench in the butterscotch woods of the walking trail and waited to catch his breath. Despite the crisp air perspiration dotted his upper lip and forehead, and he was more fatigued than he would've liked to admit.  He ran to think and when he couldn’t do anything else.

His phone trilled as he stared at it, hoping it was Scully.  It wasn’t.  "Mulder," he said tautly. A beat.

"Mulder this is Skinner.” There was something in the way he spoke that sent alarm bells ringing in every fiber of Mulder’s body. He instantly stood. "What is it Skinner.”  

Somewhere on the other end of the phone Skinner took a breath. When he spoke, his tone was genuine and pained. "It's Scully.  She tried to kill herself, Mulder."

He didn’t hear anything he said after that.

-0-0-0-

"How is she today?" Sara Marshall took the chart from the nightshift nurse and thumbed through the last few hours of data. She was petite and trim in navy blue scrubs, with dark brown wavy hair and brown eyes. The words on the page confirmed what her co-worker would say next. "No change. Won't eat, barely speaks.”  She shrugged and shook her head. Her eyes were ringed and bloodshot in the harsh fluorescent light. "I'm going home," she said tiredly, turning for the elevator. She waited there, rubbing her neck and shoulders, until the elevator settled on the floor and she stepped inside.

The psychiatric ward at Bethesda Medical Center was not the easiest place to work, but Sara liked it. Her last assignment, Labor and Delivery, was not all that different from what she did now. When you've had a (thankfully) empty bedpan thrown at your head by a spitting, foaming, mother-to-be in the throes of labor pains, a few death wishes and a couple of multiple personality cases seem to pale in comparison.

Sara perused Dana Scully’s file a bit further. No calls. No visitors. It had been two days since her admittance.  

She knocked experimentally at the door and waited. Nothing. While she didn't  _have_ to knock, she often found that it made patients feel more at ease. "Ms. Scully? May I come in?" Silence answered, so she eased the door open anyway. Her shoes squeaked on the polished floor, abrupt and vulgar in the empty room. It was cavernous within, and quiet. A muted television flashed garish images over the slight woman in the bed, bathing her in strobing, artificial light. It was the only light in the room. The woman lay on her side facing the wall and did not move. Aside from the patient, there was no other evidence that anyone had been there. No coat over a chair, no stale cup of coffee, no wilting daisies. It was as stark as a tomb.

"Well Ms. Scully," Sara said good-naturedly, "I see you have slept some. That's good." When she made no effort to acknowledge her, Sara crossed and turned on the light over the bed. "But you still haven't eaten," she continued to her captive audience, "we're going to have to do something to change that today, okay?"

The woman squinted a bit at the light's assault, raising her arm to shield her eyes. A thick white bandage around her wrist and halfway up her arm bloomed a crimson Rorschach at the sudden movement. It did not go unnoticed. "Let me get that changed for you," Sara remarked calmly, and set to work. The Suicides were different. Sara had seen the gamut. Some were actually relieved that they had failed…those were the attention seekers. Some of the others were surprised to find they had the support of family and friends, love they never knew was available to them. Those were the happy endings. And then some were just angry they weren't dead, like this one. There was no crying family waiting to understand, no love on the other side. Sara had seen it all too often. These were the ones who tried again and  _didn't_  end up here.

Sara performed her ministrations in silence. The woman remained mute and limp, allowing her to move and dress her arm with no resistance. If tending the deep slashes in the woman's wrist caused her any pain at all, she gave no indication. The striking woman stared purposefully at the ceiling, a dispassionate mask firmly in place, refusing to look at the nurse.

Sara finished her other duties and recorded the data. "Ok, that'll do it then," she said pleasantly. She was careful to not be overtly cheery. "Is there anything you need Ms. Scully?"

A curious shadow seemed to pass over the woman's face as she actually turned and regarded the nurse. Her eyes were black and distant, but she seemed to consider the question. Sarah waited. "Turn off the TV," she said at last.

The therapist had left it on, Sara was sure, in order for the patient to stay "connected" to the outside world. There was no bedside control, either. It was S.O.P. for "onlies" ("they're the only one in the world who cares if they live or die," or so she'd been told on her first day) and was therefore supposed to stay on. However, this was the first time the woman had spoken to Sara, so she decided to extend the olive branch a little further and acquiesce.

She reached up and turned it off. The very small, very sad woman with the large, wet eyes looked as though she would say more, so much more, but remained silent. Sara left her there in the room with the light now extinguished without another word.

-0-0-0-

Mulder pulled into Bethesda Medical Center at 2:14pm. Skinner had briefed him as best he could. Apparently Scully had been in town for two weeks and was staying in a hotel nearby. She'd been in Bethesda Medical Center four days.  He knew nothing else.

Mulder parked his rental in a spot on the second floor of the parking garage, his heart in his throat.  A growing apprehension snaked its way up his spine, settling in his stomach. He didn't know what he expected to find, but however she was, it would be  _her_ , alive. It was enough for him.  

How could he not have known?   _How could he not have been there?_  A wild panic began to grow in his belly. He had to see her.  He had to see her  _now._

He walked toward the information desk and up to the fifth floor elevator. The psychiatric ward. The knot in his stomach flexed and coiled, and he willed it still. The elevator dinged and he stepped out into a small holding area facing an electronically locked set of double doors and an intercom system. A sparse desk sat unattended, its lamp dark. Mulder walked up to the security doors and pressed the call button.

"I need to see someone," he said rather loudly into the speaker, a little unsure of how to begin.

A long moment stretched on, and he was halfway to the button again when it crackled to life. "What is the patient's name?" rang a crisp business-like voice.

Mulder cleared his throat. "Dana Scully," he said hoarsely. Somehow that name in this context was so very, very wrong.

"Are you family?" the voice demanded.

Mulder blinked. "No—I mean yes...I’m a very close friend of Dana’s,” he finished.

"Your name?"

"Special Agent Fox Mulder," he said, using his former title to hopefully expedite the process.

"One moment, Agent Mulder." The intercom died.

After several long minutes a buzzer sounded, and the massive double doors opened in on themselves to reveal a short, pleasant-looking nurse holding a clipboard. Behind her yawned a wide, expansive and eerily quiet hall tiled in muted tones of blue and grey. The floors shone glossy but reflected the gloom of a gray ceiling. Mulder craned his neck beyond the nurse, eager to get inside, to get to her.

"I'm Sara Marshall, Ms. Scully's dayshift nurse." The nurse extended her hand to Mulder, but Mulder brushed off the formalities. "How is she…I have to see her." His voice was low, intimate and insistent. Sara immediately discerned that this striking, intense man was very used to getting what he wanted. She glanced at the clipboard, double checking the name. "Agent Mulder, there is something you should know before you go in to visit Ms. Scully." He pinned her with a steel gaze, hanging on her every word. "There was an incident this morning and Ms. Scully had to be restrained. She hasn't eaten since arriving here, and intravenous fluids were ordered." Sara paused, looking abashed. "She pulled out her IV, Agent Mulder, and struck a nurse."

His reaction was not what she expected.

His jaw clenched, and not for the first time Sara Marshall noticed his rough-hewn good looks. And determination.

"When can I see her," he said again, this time with a little more gravity.

-0-0-0-


	2. Chapter 2

 

-0-0-0-

While Sara Marshall didn't know this man, she instantly liked him. He was forthright and stubborn, and he obviously cared for her patient.

"Right this way, Agent Mulder.  Sara led him past the nurses station, nodding politely to curious onlookers. They knew Dana Scully had had no visitors, no calls. He was the first and people were interested.

It was strictly prohibited to become emotionally attached to patients, but that didn't stop Sara from caring about Dana. She had started thinking of her on a first name basis, she discovered. There was something about her that intrigued Sara on a personal level, and if this man was as invested in Dana's well-being as he seemed to be, then he intrigued Sara too.

"Here we are Agent Mulder." Sara stopped in front of Room 514. She reached her hand out as if to place it on his arm, but decided against it. As a result, it hung awkwardly in the hair between them, palm-forward. "Ms. Scully may not be happy to see you," she began. "She has been through a lot." Mulder gave a short, affable nod and waited for the nurse to leave.

-0-0-0-

Mulder looked at the paper nameplate on the door. Scully, Dana. Her doctor's name was Johansson. She was admitted four days ago. He stared at the little sign as the nurse spoke, fighting the illogical compulsion to tear it off, as if that futile action might somehow change Scully’s reality. "She might not be happy to see you, Agent Mulder," he heard the nurse say. He didn't care. He just needed her to know that he was there.

The nurse left him standing at the door, staring at the threshold. He grabbed the handle and pushed inside.

 _It was so dark_. As his eyes adjusted, he could make out the crude outlines of institutional furniture, a rolling table, and finally a hospital bed, all awash in blue shadow. She lay prone in the bed, her eyes closed, the too-large hospital gown billowing around her slight shoulders. Her hair was a corona of fire. 

"Scully." His voice was low and throaty in the open room. She didn't stir. The touchscreen display of an IV pump glowed a sickly evergreen in the low light, casting her face in a ghostly pallor. He suddenly had the insane impulse to take her away, to unhook everything and carry her out and away from all of this horror and take her somewhere she would be safe, somewhere they could pour out the pieces of their broken lives and put them back together again.  _Together_. Instead, he stood there memorizing her deceptively peaceful face, watching her chest rise and fall in rhythmic succession. It wasn't until he approached the bed and she began to stir did he notice the restraints. Large sheep skin cuffs buckled over her forearms and ankles made his throat tighten, his heart beat faster. His eyes stung with unshed tears.  _Why wasn’t I there_ ,he thought again, as the hole inside him that had opened as soon as he had received the call from Skinner burned around the edges, widening ever so slightly.

He settled in a plastic chair beside the bed, studying the cuffs. Beneath the right, a heavy bandage betrayed itself in the electric light. Mulder grimaced and traced the edge of it lightly with his fingers until he found her hand. Delicately, he wrapped the bone-china fingers of that damaged hand in his own.

He sat there as the tears flowed freely, feeling the warmth of her skin in the dark room, hearing the steady drip of the IV and thinking of nothing for a long time.

-0-0-0-

"So who is he?" Sara looked out over the delicate frames of her stylish glasses at the interested nurse. "He says he's a friend," she replied tolerantly. She was charting her last patient and not really interested at the moment. "Well, he's certainly a looker," the other nurse replied, punctuating the last comment with a conspiratorial wink. Sara smiled. "Patty, you're married, remember?" The other nurse nodded. "Yes, but not dead," she deadpanned. Sara chuckled to herself.

She did wonder about him, though. He and Dana couldn't have been that close, or he would've been here sooner. Yet he'd been in that room for hours, and he had certainly been desperate to see her.

She hesitated before entering, but didn't knock this time. She saw him first, who started slightly when she came in. He was holding her hand gently as she slept, her pale hand in his tan one, a wounded dove he'd tenderly scooped up where it had fallen from the perch.  Maybe her first assessment was wrong.

She hated to disturb them. Sara smiled in his direction, stopping in front of him. "I'm sorry, but I need to check," she said quietly. He understood, but seemed reluctant to move. Releasing her hand was like severing his arm. Sara unbuckled the right restraint and gingerly lifted the bandaged wrist. Dana never stirred. The doctor had administered a sedative earlier after Dana had struck one of the nurses. Sara had been in with another patient, but had read the report. She had hit her (with a heck of a left hook) when the nurse questioned her about eating. Which she still had not done.

But that was no matter now. Sara checked the bag of IV fluids and reset the pump. She looked at Dana’s placid face and was suddenly overwhelmed with sympathy. Dana was getting a bit of nourishment, at least, and all would get better with time. The corners of her mouth quirked a little as she thought of the very impatient, very protective man hovering behind her. She had definitely misjudged him, she thought.  He was a friend, but maybe more.  Regardless, it looked as though she would have plenty of support during her recovery.

Sara deftly snipped away the bandage and peeled it from the puckered flesh. The stitches were holding nicely, but there had been damage to the radial nerve. Unfortunately, her attempt had been emphatic. She would need some physical therapy to regain the full strength of her grip.

Most people look away from wounds like this, yet the man's gaze never left Dana’s wrist. He looked on, impassive yet not unaffected.

"Agent Mulder, she may sleep for a little while longer. If you want to come back—"

"I'm not leaving," the man cut in. "I want to be with her."

Sara smiled. She believed that completely.

-0-0-0-


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for The Xmas Files Creative Challenge on Tumblr. Day 10: Gingerbread.

-0-0-0-

Scully was only vaguely aware of dying. Red and purple explosions bloomed behind her eyelids, her lungs screamed for air as her oxygen starved body lost its vigor with every beat of her heart.

She weakly fought toward the surface. She didn’t have the strength.

Her lungs spasmed and she inhaled instinctively, coughing and sputtering on iron-tinged, tepid water. She was drowning.  _It wasn’t supposed to happen like this_ , she thought wildly. She had bled out too slowly and was still conscious when she went under. The water in the bathtub, now rose-pink with Scully’s blood, pulled her down like quicksand. A heavy blackness crept at the corners of her consciousness, threatening to close in. She lay immobile in a watery tomb, death on either side of her, waiting.

_So much for not making a mess._

-0-0-0-

7:32pm

Bethesda Medical Center

Bethesda, Maryland

Consciousness came to her in violent pants for air. Her lungs heaved, her arms strained against the cuffs. She was in the hospital, not in her hotel room. It was nighttime, not that morning.  And she was still alive.

Her forehead was wet with perspiration, her lips dry. Her racing heart throbbed in her tattered wrist.  _Steady. Steady,_ she willed herself. It was the same dream every time she closed her eyes, ever since they’d brought her here.

It was fitting punishment for botching a suicide.

She took a shaky breath. The room was the same, only now it burned with cold, artificial light. The same glass of water stood untouched on the rolling table at the foot of the bed, now joined by another neglected food tray. She caught her reflection in the darkened television, distorted like a funhouse mirror. She was a ghost, a dark shadow floating on a sea of white emptiness. She looked away.

Scully examined her shackled wrists, then something caught her eye. An orange plastic chair was pulled flush to the bed. She swallowed.

Suddenly, as if in answer to her unspoken question, the door to her hospital room opened. It was Mulder.  He stood against the nervous activity of the hallway, silently regarding her from across the room. “Hey,” he said quietly. He was holding a cup of coffee.

She didn’t want him there. She closed her eyes.  _Just go away, Mulder, just go go go go go_ a silent litany pleaded in her mind. She wished it was anyone but him, anyone else seeing her like this. She looked away from him, to the opposite wall. There was nowhere to go. “Mulder.” Her voice was small, quiet. “Mulder why are you here.” She couldn’t look at him.

He approached her steadily, depositing the coffee on the rolling table with the other silent sentries. He settled into the plastic chair. “I could ask you the same thing,” he said tenderly. His eyes were gray in the cool light, and patient. He was hers for as long as she needed him.  He was hers forever.

Scully refused to face him, but when he reached for her hand she did not stiffen. Unbidden, hot tears streaked down the side of her face. She set her mouth, willing them to stop. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d cried. “Scully,” Mulder intoned quietly. Her name was honey in his mouth, and she hated him for that. She hated he was here, a firsthand witness to how pathetic she must look. She had always been the rock.  The strength. She was merely a shadow of that.

“Mulder you should go,” she finally managed. “You shouldn’t be here.”

Mulder released her hand, letting it fall gently to the bed. She refused to look at him, and he knew why.  _Never show your weakness._  He’d learned that about her after so many years together.  The wall goes up.  

“Look me in the eye and tell me you want me to leave,” he rumbled smoothly. He was leaning over the bed now, murmuring in her ear. Scully bristled at his closeness, the sound of his voice, the heat of his body. She turned into his gaze. She was the only one that could meet Mulder toe-to-toe, even at her worst.

Their faces were inches apart. She could feel his breath on her cheek, his capable arms tensing on the bedrail. He filled her vision and overwhelmed her senses. Mulder was everywhere. She looked into those unflinching eyes brimming with depth and sincerity.

“Our son, Mulder. I want to see our son again,” she said as tears slipped down her cheeks, soaking the pillow.  I wanted to watch him grow up.”  

The hole opened even wider, threatening to swallow him.  Guilt, his lifelong companion, filled the void.  Mulder cupped her face with his hands, shushing her softly, cooling her hot face.  His hands were shaking.  “I wanted that too,” he said, his voice thick with tears.  “I wanted that too.”  He rested his forehead against hers

“It’s ok, it’s ok,” he soothed quietly.  She closed her eyes against his voice, against the room and her reality. Tears silently escaped her matted lashes. She clung to his touch as darkness overtook her. It was blissfully quiet for a long time.

-0-0-0-

8:34 am

Bethesda Medical Center

Bethesda, Maryland

Sunlight streamed into the windows of the fifth floor psychiatric ward at Bethesda  Medical Center. Sara Marshall stood amid a bustle of activity at the nurse’s station and arranged the medicine doses for each of her patients. She also checked the daily therapy schedule and cross-checked it for any conflicts. “So what time did Agent Mulder leave,” she asked casually. She received no response, save for a few confused glances from her fellow nurses. She smiled to herself. “Dana Scully, in 514…what time did her visitor leave?”

A middle aged nurse huffed. “Honey, he didn’t leave. He’s been out of that room maybe twice in twelve hours.” Sara looked in the direction of the room, thinking. Somehow that news did not surprise her. “Well, how is she this morning,” Sara asked mildly. “Dunno, haven’t been in. Patty was on duty last night, though.” The other nurse shutdown, disinterested.

Sara approached 514 and rapped softly. A pause. “You can come in,” was the detached reply from the other side. It was Dana. Sara could’ve been knocked over with a feather.

She walked in to find the blinds had been opened, and the eastern-facing windows were taking the brunt of the morning sunlight.  It was pleasantly warm within, although a pervasive gloom still hung in the corners of the room. Dana sat partially upright in the bed. Her red hair, a shade or two brighter than gingerbread, spilled over the pillow and feathered around her shoulders. Her face was pale and drawn. Mulder was an ever-present fixture at her side. She was out of her restraints.

Sara glanced at the unbuckled cuffs, then at Mulder. He fixed her with an inscrutable gaze, the meaning of which she understood perfectly. She gave a miniscule nod. “Well good morning Ms. Scully,” Sara began. “How are you feeling today?” Scully smoothed the gown in her lap, a useless action. When she looked up her eyes were hard. “I’m not,” she replied blankly. Sara shrugged it off and approached the bandaged wrist, lifting it with care. Dana actually stiffened a bit at her ministrations, which Sara took as a good sign. Emotion, any emotion, was an integral part of recovering from a suicide attempt. Her previous lethargy appeared to be diminishing, but it would be rough going for awhile.

Mulder averted his eyes from the exposed wrist, no doubt for Scully’s benefit.  As a result, Sara’s patient relaxed a little, staring vacantly ahead. When Sara was finished, she locked eyes with her. “When can I leave,” Scully asked flatly. She looked at Sara as if the nurse were the only person in the world keeping her there.

“Well, you know Ms. Scully, that decision is ultimately your doctor’s.” Sara stole a glance at Mulder, who was listening to every word. She lowered her voice, folding her arms over Dana’s chart.

“Your vital signs are good,” she said carefully, “but that doesn’t mean you’re getting better.” She leveled soft eyes over her glasses. “But I think you know that, don’t you?”

It was a question to which Sara did not expect an answer.

-0-0-0-


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Xmas Files Creative Challenge on Tumblr. Day 11: Sleigh Ride.

-0-0-0-

Scully glanced at Mulder as soon as the nurse left the room.  She fretted with the edge of her hospital gown nervously.  Her eyes were frenetic, anxious.

“Get me out of here, Mulder.”

He regarded her cautiously. “You know I can’t do that.”  Her sudden change in mood made him uneasy.  “You have to stay here to get better.”  It was hollow and placating and he didn’t believe it.    

Scully looked at him with impassively, and just for a moment, a shadow passed over her face.  “I’m not getting better, Mulder.  I’m never getting better.”  

He swallowed, his face softening.  Scully was a coiled spring on the verge of exhaustion.  “It’ll take time.”      

Scully lay back on the bed, the too-soft mattress absorbing most of her frame.  “What if I don’t want to,” she breathed.  It was almost imperceptible, a whispered confession.

Mulder got up, crossing to her quickly.  “What do you mean ‘if you don’t want to,’” he asked her darkly.  “Do you think you’re the only person who cares whether you live or die?  Look at me, Scully.”  

“Go to hell.”  

“Scully,–“                                

“I said go to hell! Or have you already joined me there?” She sat up in the bed, livid, her eyes aflame and her muscles taut.  “Fuck this,” she said abruptly, and swung her legs to the other side of the bed.  In a swift motion she reached for the needle in her arm.  The nurse had secured it so it was harder to tamper with, but that didn’t stop her from trying.

Mulder anticipated her intention a split second before she moved.  He crossed and grabbed her a little too roughly, pinning the offending arm behind her.  Her lithe body twisted in his grip, her extensive training taking over.  Mulder turned her around to face him and she looked up, defiant.  Scully’s body was pressed against his, her breathing rapid and her eyes wild.  “What gives you the right!” she spat as she twisted away from him.  “It’s my life, Mulder.  Mine.  And  _I_  get to decide what to do with it.” She stood there in her bare feet glaring up at him, panting quietly against the wall of the empty room.  

“You’re right,” Mulder heard himself say, although it pierced him to the very core of his being. “It is your life.  But I wouldn’t be alive if it weren’t for you.”  

That seemed to get her attention.  

“When you were returned to me, Scully, and your mom and sister took you off life support,” he paused, his throat tightening, “I didn’t want to live.”  He started walking toward her, his arms spread.  “I didn’t want to live in a world without you in it.  And the night I sat on my couch waiting for that call, waiting to learn if you would live or die, I had resolved not to.”

She looked up at him with large, wet eyes, her previous ire gone.  

“You saved my life by simply living.”  He swallowed. “And I can’t let you give up.”

She looked at him then, dimly remembering events from a lifetime ago.  She dully realized that to kill herself was to kill him too.  It only served to make her feel worse for her actions.  

“I love you Mulder,” she said through her tears, “but I’m sorry I’m not dead.” Her eyes were vacant, fixed on a distant point, and she slid down the wall to rest in a sitting position. She brushed her hair away from her face with a shaky hand.  “I really, really am.”

Mulder watched Scully where she sat folded on the polished floor.  Her knees were bruised, and she rested her forehead on them.  He knelt on the floor in front of her.  

“I’m not,” he said in the stillness.  He wrapped his hand around her upper arm and pulled her close.  He kissed the top of her head, and she didn’t resist him. Indeed, she seemed to melt into his arms as if she were buckling under her own weight. “Don’t give up on me Scully,” he said into her hair.  “It gets better.  It’s just going to take some time.”  

-0-0-0-

Hotel Monaco

Bethesda, Maryland

6:15p 

Mulder used his FBI credentials to gain access to Scully’s hotel room on the 9th floor.  

He walked down the richly lit hall, passing identical doors with identical brass handles.  A few room service trays lay at the thresholds, impressing the lush maroon carpet with their burden of dishes.  Mulder slid the keycard and stepped inside.

It smelled of cleaner and antiseptic.  The lights were low and the bed was made.  He suspected Scully had done that before…everything. She was tidy to a fault. In the corner he spotted her suitcase and proceeded to unzip it.  It was small and from the contents within, it didn’t look like she had planned to stay long. He placed it by the door.  

A glass of water stood on the nightstand.  A Gideon bible lay open next to it.  The television was on, an old movie with the Ronette’s Sleigh Ride played over the voices of laughing children, a grim contrast to the sadness that loomed over everything the light touched.

After unconsciously avoiding it, he found his way into the bathroom.  He had read the report and knew this was where she’d been found.  Had it not been for the dry cleaning, he might be visiting Bethesda on an entirely different errand.  The young man delivering her clothes became alarmed when he heard what sounded like struggling and couldn’t get an answer at the door.  He had housekeeping open it and found her in the bath, nearly drowned.  

The bathroom had been impeccably cleaned.   No one would have ever guessed what had transpired there nearly a week ago, although the room still remained off limits to further guests.  He glanced quickly at the tub in the middle of the room, then looked away.  Mulder gathered the trifles scattered there and turned his back on it.  

On the floor of the closet there was a small overnight bag containing, among other things, a gun. It wasn’t her service weapon from the Bureau, but her personal weapon of a similar make.  He checked the full clip and tucked it into the waistband of his jeans. There was also a pantsuit in the closet. He left it.

Mulder grabbed the few things he thought she might need and left.

-0-0-0-

“Dana Scully is not progressing.”  Dr. Barrett Johansson took a pen from his pocket and scribbled a quick signature on a passing clipboard.  “She is not eating and is making little attempt at communicating.  I also suspect her violent tendencies will only escalate if she is left in low-security.  For these reasons, I am moving Dana Scully to Tier 1 status.  She’ll be in complete lockdown until further notice.”  

Sara Marshall watched the doctor’s sleek, bald head punctuate the air as he walked briskly down the hall.  She felt helpless to stop what was clearly a poor decision. She tucked a loose strand behind her ear.  “That’s not true you know, about communicating.  She is accepting visitors,” she called after him.  Or  _one visitor,_ Sara mentally amended.  Dr. Johansson gave her an annoyed look before stepping onto the elevator.  

Sara felt sick, but was instantly glad she’d swapped shifts with another nurse so that she could pull a double.  Dana wouldn’t make it a day in lockdown.  Further isolating her would push her completely over the edge.  She would try again, or she would simply starve herself until the doctors began eating for her (which would only drive her deeper into depression).

 _Didn’t the doctors know that this wasn’t about food, but control?_  she thought.    

Sara knew that suicide was all about reasserting power.  Dana didn’t need life thrust upon her in the form of medical intervention.  She needed to know that she has the power to get better.  Frustrated, she passed off her last few patients to a fellow nurse and went directly to Dana’s room.

She wasn’t in bed.  Dana sat in the high-backed vinyl chair on the far side of the room.  The room was dimly lit, and through the blinds the ambient light from the city threw jagged slashes of light across her face.  “Where’s your visitor?” Sara asked the seated woman.

“He’ll be back.”  A non-answer.  Sara eyed the plastic chair.  “Do you mind if I sit down?”  Dana favored her with a slightly bemused expression.   Sara placed her clipboard on the foot of the bed and positioned the orange chair several feet between them.  

“How do you think you’re doing,” she probed carefully.  

Dana looked at her, both indifferent and annoyed.  “Physically, I’m fine.”  When Sara didn’t say anything, she added, “I still think about dying, if that’s what you mean.”  

Sara nodded.  “Yeah.  Well, that part gets better,” she said quietly.  And then she pushed a wide, ornate bangle bracelet up her slender arm, exposing her left wrist.  In the low light, Scully could see the silvery-white scars glowing.  She swallowed.  

“So why’d you do it,” Scully asked quietly.  Sara looked at her with genuine understanding.  “Same reason,” she said.  

 _Not the same reason,_ Scully thought, but she let it go.   She looked away instead.  Sara looked at her, her eyes suddenly steel.  “They’re going to lock you up Dana, and I can’t stop them.  They think it will help you.  It won’t.”  She stood.  “You can’t go back and redo things. All you have is now.  Do the best you can with that.”  

“Get some rest, Ms. Scully. And eat tomorrow, or they’re going to put a tube in your stomach and put you in restraints.”  

Scully looked up at her, slightly stunned.  “And when your friend gets back, tell him I want to see him.”  

-0-0-0-

Bethesda Medical Center

8:01pm

Mulder hefted the small duffel and walked purposefully down the hall, past the nurse’s station.  He rounded the corner with a clear path to Scully’s room, only to find her nurse standing there.  She stepped partially into his path, stopping him.

“Agent Mulder, can I have a word with you?”  Mulder nodded curtly, and she led him to a small conference room connecting the two wings of the psych unit.  “What’s this about?”  His intense eyes shone with obvious concern and barely restrained urgency.

Sara cut right to the chase. “The doctor is moving Dana to Tier 1 status.  Non-compliant and critical.  They’re relocating her to the maximum security wing tomorrow morning, Agent Mulder. She won’t be allowed any visitors.”  Mulder’s jaw tightened. He knew what maximum security meant, even if it was in a hospital setting.  And he knew exactly what had to happen.  He looked at Sara Marshall, searching the nurse’s face.  

“Will you help us?”

-0-0-0


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for The Xmas Files Creative Challenge on Tumblr. Day 12: Secret Santa

 

-0-0-0-

“All you have is now.  Do the best you can with that.” 

 _But how_?  It seemed like a tall order, an insurmountable task.  Scully stood in the bathroom, looking at herself in the shatterproof mirror above the sink.  Her eyes were hollow and dark underneath, and she was trembling slightly.  At least the IV was gone, having been discontinued after her latest attempt to do it herself.  She steadied herself at the sink.  The cool tile of the bathroom floor sent steady jolts of sensation through her feet and legs.  She was, indeed, alive.   _Now what?_

She splashed some cold water on her face to clear her head and was surprised to find that it felt good.  She did it again.  “Ok,” she said aloud.   _Start with the basics_. 

_You’re in the hospital because you tried to die and failed.  Now you’re stuck, because apparently you can’t even kill yourself properly and you’re too chicken to try again.  Yeah.  You’re afraid to try again, and that’s even more pathetic than trying again and failing._

_A mess.  You’re a mess._

_“All you have is now.”_   In Scully’s eyes, she had very little at the moment.  The hospital room, the emptiness, and the good, cold water.  And hunger, she realized.  She was hungry.  The realization stupefied her with its simplicity.  She wasn’t before, and now she was.  So she had hunger.

And she had Mulder.  Always Mulder.  Mulder was there and he wouldn’t leave.  He said it would take time, to give it time.  But time is the enemy when you don’t want to live; there’s always too much of it, and too many things trying to fill it.  Like Mulder. Mulder, who kept his hand to the darkness without closing his fingers around it.  Mulder, who was full of so many good things.  How she wished they could have raised their son away from the hell that was their lives. 

Mulder wouldn’t leave.  She had him.  She shut off the lights and closed the door behind her. 

As she was walking out, the door to her room swung open.  It was Mulder.  He carried a bag and tossed it on the bed.  His demeanor had changed into one of tightly wound tension.  “I brought you some things,” he said in a rush.  “Get changed, we’re leaving.” 

She watched him reach up behind the wall-mounted television and retrieve a gun wedged under the frame.  Scully’s eyes widened in surprise.  “What’s going on Mulder?”  Her heart rate accelerated.

“We’ve got to go, Scully.”  He moved closer to her now, his eyes resolute.  “They’re going to put you in lockdown.  Maximum security wing, tomorrow morning.”  He locked eyes with her.  “I can’t let that happen.”

He handed her the bag.  “Get ready,” he said tensely, and turned to leave.  She knew that in his mind he was already strategizing whatever had to transpire, while she knew nothing.  Less than nothing.  She stood there, hesitating.

“Hey,” he returned to her, reached and gingerly cupped the back of her neck with his hand, centering her face with his.  “Do you trust me?”  His voice had lost its urgency.  Time slowed, resonating between them like the final note of a beautiful aria.  She shook her head, a short, rapid nod.  Under the scrutiny of his gaze, she forgot to breath.  Of course she trusted him.  She trusted no other.  “You know I do,” she exhaled finally.  It was firm and decisive. 

Mulder looked away, breaking the contact.  “I’ll be right back,” he said.  And he was gone. 

She opened the bag on the bed.  It was a piece of her luggage with her clothes inside.  On top was a folded set of hospital scrubs, a stethoscope, and shoes.  She put them on and tied her hair in a low ponytail.  The shoes were a little loose, but would work.  She checked the mirror again, smoothing her hair back.  She was ready.

-0-0-0-

“You’ll only have five minutes after the shift change, then you’re on your own.”  Sara looked at Fox Mulder, a man she hardly knew and had met only days ago.  “Thank you,” he said in a low tone.  He looked at her with some reluctance, thinking of how much he’d already asked of her.  “I need the location of the security cameras…fifth and second floors, the parking garage, and the elevator.  Do you think you can do that?”  She shifted in the small supply closet and nervously checked her watch.  “Ok,” she finally said.  “I’ll have to get them from security somehow.  Look, I have to go.  You need to make your move soon.”

Mulder looked at the young woman fully.  “I know what you’re risking for this,” Mulder began.  Sara stopped him with a raised hand, and he saw the scars on her wrist.  “Just take care of her,” she said quietly.  “Take care of both of you.”

Mulder exited and made his way down the hall, his demeanor one of casual urgency.  He opened the door to Scully’s room and slipped inside. 

Scully stood by the window in the undulating shadows of moonlight, her arms folded across the middle of her borrowed navy blue scrubs.  Her shoulders were slumped slightly, but when she turned to look at him, her eyes were bright.  She’d tied her hair back, revealing a delicate profile and graceful neck.  The scrubs were entirely too long for her, and she had cuffed the under to try and hide the fact.  She was beautiful. 

Mulder cleared his throat, seeing a glimpse of the Scully he knows and loves.  “You ready?”

Scully dipped her head, and for a moment, there flitted a whisper of a smile.  “Yeah.” 

-0-0-0-

The plan was simple enough, though executing it might be something else entirely.  Sara had sweettalked the surveillance blueprint from security (citing a paranoid schizophrenic’s conspiracy theories), but that might’ve been the easy part. 

While concocting the plan, she still maintained her rounds and responsibilities, dividing her attention between the two worlds so as to not arouse suspicion.  It was unbelievably complex, and verified (to Sara, at least) that she would be utterly useless as a secret agent.

She rounded the corner, passing the fifth floor nurses station.  All of her coworkers seemed to notice her at once, but their attention was only a product of her heightened awareness.  Her illicit activities made her feel exposed, made the hair on her arms stand on end.  On some level, though, it was thrilling.  In a place where the only kind of excitement was what patient was going to expose themselves at the nurse’s station on what day, or who you got each year for Secret Santa, this was downright explosive.

Sara ducked into Room 514, looking as business-like as possible.  Her heart thundered in her chest, her throat constricted.  She took a deep breath to steady her nerves.

Agent Mulder and her patient were standing close together.  Dana appeared calm and focused, a welcome change from the erratic, angry woman she’d known for the past week.  Her long-suffering visitor was talking to her in a low, purposeful tone, his words indiscernible from where Sara stood by the door.  Dana listened intently, her head turned slightly into their conversation.  Occasionally, she nodded.  She said something then, and he lightly touched the slight bend in her elbow, holding it briefly.  The sweet intimacy in that simple gesture made Sara feel uncomfortable, like a voyeur.  She had misjudged them, she realized.  They were definitely more than friends.    

“It’s time,” Sara announced steadily.  “We don’t have long.”  She handed Agent Mulder the folded blueprint, then crossed to the shelf against the wall and reached for one of the hospital gowns stacked there.  “I need to get changed.”

Dana looked at her, then at Mulder.  He stepped forward, taking the gown from her hand and tossing it on the bed.  “No, you don’t.”  Sara looked at him, stunned.  “I can’t let you take the fall for this.”  Mulder swallowed, his eyes softening.  “You’ve done too much.  We’re doing this my way.” 

Sara shook her head.  “It will be easier if Dana and I trade places.  If she keeps her head down you two can just walk out of here.”  She searched his eyes, realizing it was futile but trying anyway.  “Listen, she’s not due for a bed check for at least another fifteen minutes.  That gives you plenty of time.” 

Mulder’s jaw clenched, but before he could reply, Dana interrupted.  “And what about you?  What do you think will happen to you when they find you here?”  Her voice held a brittle edge, but her eyes betrayed the concern there. 

Sara swallowed.  She already knew what would happen.  At best, she’d lose her job, most likely her license.  If she didn’t go to jail, her career, at least, was over.  Mulder’s expression was stoic, non-negotiable.  “We do this my way.” 

She understood. 

-0-0-0-

“I’m sorry, but this has to be convincing.” 

Sara winced as Agent Mulder tightened the bonds around her wrists and ankles.  He’d torn part of the bed sheet in strips, and he now bound Sara’s hands to the bedrail.  She was on her knees on the cold floor, her ankles bound behind her in the same way, her hands tingling from the tourniquet around her wrists.  Her thighs trembled in the awkward position.  “You don’t have to do this,” Sara said.  “If they find you—“

“They won’t find us,” Agent Mulder said tersely.  “And you’re an innocent in this.  Wait a few minutes for the shift change, then keep them busy explaining what happened.  Tell them you came in on rounds, and you were blindsided.  When you came to, we were gone.”  Agent Mulder tore another strip from the sheet.  Dana reappeared from the bathroom and handed him a washcloth.  These were two people practiced in working as a team, she thought. Sara shook her head slightly, indicating that she understood.  Her mouth was a grim line.  “Thank you,” Agent Mulder said, and then, “I’m sorry,” as he stuffed the washcloth in her mouth and tied the gag tight.  Dana looked on, her face unreadable.

-0-0-0-

Mulder and “Sara” walked casually down the hall, toward the elevator.  Scully wore Sara’s glasses, but kept her head down, pretending to review the file she carried.  A close-fitting long sleeve white shirt under her scrubs hid the bandage on Scully’s wrist. Despite the ill-fitting scrubs and the difference in their hair color, with a stethoscope and her comfort in such attire, she looked the part. 

They kept a steady, determined pace, yet Mulder was careful not to go too fast.  They slipped by the first security camera, then the second, making their way to the electronically sealed double doors that would lead them out of the psychiatric ward.  Scully unclipped Sara’s ID and swiped it over the security pad.  There was a low buzz, and the doors lurched open. 

Directly into the path of a middle-aged, balding physician waiting on the other side.  Mulder recognized the elegantly embroidered name on his white coat (“Johansson”) from Scully’s door.  He was her doctor.  Scully kept her eyes down, trying to keep a low profile.  Johansson noticed the “nurse” right away.  Glancing only briefly at Mulder and forgoing any pleasantries, he addressed her in a clipped, dour tone.  “Sara, I need those test results on the patient in—“he stopped abruptly, recognition flashing in his eyes.  He opened his mouth, probably to call for security, but never got the chance.  In a flash of movement, Mulder struck him with the butt of his gun, rendering him unconscious.  Mulder caught him before he fell completely to the floor.  He checked for a pulse, and then he and Scully towed the man’s dead weight behind the empty security desk.  Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be long until someone found him. 

Bypassing the elevator, Mulder grabbed Scully’s hand and led her into the stairwell. 

They were running out of time. 

-0-0-0-


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for the Xmas Files Creative Challenge on Tumblr. Day 13: Stockings.

-0-0-0-

They were nearing the second floor parking garage when the klaxons began to sound.  He knew they had precious few minutes before the doors sealed and they were trapped.  He looked at Scully, still unsure of how to treat her, of what to say.  She descended the stairs alongside him, her hand entwined in his, the contact passionless and necessary.  Her eyes were cast downward, perhaps gauging their rapid descent, perhaps somewhere else entirely.

Mulder pressed his back against the wall, surveying the foyer that led to the parking garage through the small window in the stairwell door.  It was too open, too exposed.  They would have to risk it.  

Together, they slipped into the brightly lit hall, headed for the exit.  

* * *

 

-0-0-0-

Skinner’s phone rang twice before he reached it.  It was Mulder, and he rarely called him unless he needed something.  He heard the rain and the road noise first over dead air, then Mulder’s clear voice cut in. “Skinner, it’s me.”  A perfunctory greeting he usually neglected.  He heard him take a breath.  “I need you do something for me.”

The windshield wipers punctuated every blank syllable over the phone as Skinner looked up at the few agents that were still lingering after the day’s meeting.  He wordlessly saw them out with just a glance.

When they had gone, he lowered his voice.  “What’s this about, Mulder?”

“I need you to smooth things over with the hospital where Scully was.”  The change in tense was not lost on him.  “Make it look like we were apprehended, captured not far from Bethesda Medical Center.  Can you do that?”  

Skinner’s mouth forehead creased.  “Apprehended for what, Agent Mulder?”  Mulder simply pursed his lips.  

“Can you just do this please?”    

“Sure,” he said tensely, “You wanna tell me what happened?”

Mulder looked at Scully, who seemed oblivious to their conversation.  “She needed to get out of there Skinner.”  

There was a pause on the other end.  Skinner seemed to accept that, and he certainly trusted his judgment where Scully was concerned.

“Ok,” he said, and ended the call.

-0-0-0-

It was raining steadily when they left the hospital, the alternating straight-down and torrential side assault not uncommon for storms off the Chesapeake.  Scully sat tense and still in the front seat, her elbow propped on the door, two fingers resting over her mouth, staring out the window.  The rain-slicked highway danced with a thousand little lights, and liquid shadows like an old film image warped and distorted the world outside, making the concrete truth of their rental car seem crudely separate instead of warmly familiar like it should have been. They drove in silence.  

“Where are we going?”

It was the first thing she’d said since they left the hospital.  Mulder hesitated, realizing he didn’t really know himself.  “We need to get out of town, keep a low profile for a few hours.”  She said nothing.  “Skinner is issuing a false report, sending it through regular channels.  That should keep us in the clear.”  

Scully looked straight ahead, past the rain.  “Yeah I know, I heard you.”  It was automatic, a knee-jerk response.  

 _As was mine_ , he ruminated,  _the whole affair_.  While he didn’t second guess his decision, he wondered about his next move.  She was so volatile now, the thread so tenuous.  He looked at her soft features now angular in the creeping shadows and searched for something to say.  In the end, he said nothing.  There were miles between them and ultimately, miles more to go.  

-0-0-0-

Scully shifted slightly in the seat, absently fiddling with the door handle.  They’d been driving for hours and had said little.  She wanted to say something, wanted to do something, but there were no Hallmark sentiments that seemed appropriate.  She studied his face…his beautiful, driven, determined, focused face.  Single-minded.  Loving. Hers.  He broke in on her thoughts.  “Hey, you hungry?”  They were somewhere in Pennsylvania.  She really didn’t care where.  But she remembered that she was hungry, had been hungry for awhile.  

“Yeah,” she replied.  

\----

The Tick-Tock Diner

Easton, PA

\----

The Tick-Tock was one of those quaintly retro all-night establishments that was clean and usually had good food.  They pulled up to the side, under the shadow of the big neon clock, and walked in.

They both ordered coffee and breakfast plates.  Scully studied her fork, the scarred green Formica, and remembered she didn’t have any money.  “Oh God Mulder, I don’t—“

”It’s fine,” he interrupted, somehow finishing her thought.  He smiled, and Scully realized that the two of them, either together or apart, had smiled too infrequently in their time together.  Mulder’s smile had the youthful jubilance of a young boy who’d just gotten away with something particularly naughty, and she loved it now as she always had.  

“I don’t even have an I.D.,” she said bemusedly.  Mulder looked at her, his face a perfect, pensive mask.  “Well, if we get drinks later, I’ll do the ordering.”  

She laughed suddenly, a sharp chuckle that took her completely by surprise.  It sounded so alien to her.  She abruptly stopped, suddenly self-conscious.  

They ate in relative, comfortable silence.  Mulder studied her between bites, pleased she was eating, getting her strength back. And she had laughed.  He smiled at the memory.  A deep, throaty chuckle that had ended as quickly as it began.  That little gift was so unexpected, so beautifully spontaneous.  If only she could do that more often.  He silently vowed to give her as many reasons as he could.

“Promise me you won’t hurt yourself again.”

He’d said it before thinking and instantly regretted it.  She stopped eating then and looked at him, an array of emotions playing on her face.  Her eyes slipped closed, her face suddenly stricken.  “I can’t,” she whispered.  “I’m trying, but I can’t promise anything, Mulder.”  She looked at him with such sadness it took his breath.  She pushed her plate back.  “But I am trying.”

“That’s all I ask,” he heard himself say, and instantly realized how arrogant it sounded.  He slipped his hand across the table, carefully grasping her injured one.  “You don’t have to go through this alone.  But if you would just fight.”  His voice was low and his eyes searched her face.  And she realized with some measure of shock that his eyes were wet with tears.  

He drew her hand up to his face and gingerly pressed his cheek into it, the warmth of his tears seeping through her fingers.  “Promise me,” he almost breathed, “that if you won’t fight for yourself, that you’ll fight for me.  Promise me Scully.”  

She exhaled deeply, her eyes closed.  When she opened them, he was looking at her.  His face was warm, tangible.  She nodded quickly, stroking her thumb against his cheek in reply.  

-0-0-0-

While the storm had abated some hours before, they now found themselves in the heart of another downpour. The rain was relentless, pounding so hard it made driving nearly impossible.  He looked over at Scully.  Her shoulders sagged into the seat, her eyes were fixed on the road and glassy with exhaustion.  It was a few hours before dawn, and she needed rest.  They both did.  

“We’re stopping for awhile,” he said finally.  She didn’t protest.

\----

Bear Creek Motor Inn

Rural northeast Pennsylvania

\----

It was a motel just off the highway, one of those out-of-the-way places that are still family owned and one in which you can usually get a good night’s sleep.  The well-kept complex of buildings was nested in the beautifully painted woods of northern Pennsylvania, making the state a common destination for foliage enthusiasts.  

It was dark, however, and pouring rain, and the normally charming, bucolic scene loomed woeful and foreboding against the pre-dawn landscape.

Mulder and Scully walked quickly through the deluge, sloshing a trail through the generous standing puddles until they made it to the front door.  Mulder approached the desk and waited.  He looked back at Scully, who stood warming herself by a heater in the tiny lobby.  He couldn’t leave her alone, he knew, not yet, couldn’t let her out of his sight. He paid cash for one room, and accepted the key.  

-0-0-0-

Scully stood by the small heater in the shabby lobby and waited for Mulder.  Stay here and keep warm, he’d said to her, the room’s probably chill. She knew the real reason.

He didn’t trust her, and she couldn’t blame him.  She didn’t trust herself.  

She glanced at the kindly old attendant behind the desk, managing a quick smile.  Her watchdog, she gathered.  She turned away, toward the window.  The parking lot gleamed like black glass, neon and halogen light casting the world in a diffuse glow.  Absently, she tracked an oil-slick of rain as it slid lazily down the window, only to dissipate and lose its path.  

For the first time in awhile, she was glad she wasn’t alone.  

-0-0-0-

Mulder popped the trunk and retrieved a small bag of Scully’s and his duffle.  He withdrew Scully’s gun, removed the clip and shoved it in the tire well, out of sight.  Alongside that, he stashed the pistol he’d emptied and hidden in the hospital room. Right now, with Scully, he couldn’t afford to take any chances.  

She was waiting for him in the lobby by the door, her arms folded, staring out into the inky black early morning.  He shouldered his way in, shaking off the rain.  They made their way together into the parking lot.

The room was quaintly furnished and clean.  The two double beds were separated by an end table and a small lamp.  There was a television, a dresser and a small bathroom. The furnishings were austere, functional and, to Mulder at least, entirely acceptable.  

Scully stopped just inside the threshold, as Mulder placed the bags on the bed and shrugged off his wet jacket.  He walked to the far side of the room, to the small closet.  She looked at him, remembering the “guard” he’d posted in the lobby, and wondered what he must think of her.      

“I’m not going to try anything Mulder.”  She swallowed, registering his surprise.   _I would never do that to you_ , she didn’t say.   _Not again._

He was standing in front of her now, his face unreadable.  His damp shirt clung to his arms and chest, and his hair was wet.  She was shivering.  “You’re soaked,” he said roughly.  He placed his hands on her arms to quell the shaking there.   They were warm, and she craved more of them. Unexpectedly, she pressed herself against him, hugging him tightly.  His arms encircled her shoulders, her lower back.  He held her in a firm embrace and, momentarily, the gnawing dread that had roared at Scully for so long…the loss of her son, her infertility, the unseen forces that frequently used her and Mulder as pawns against each other…was silenced.  She thought fleetingly that if all of life were this, it might be manageable.  

“Thank you,” she whispered into his neck.  His skin was warm, and she let her lips linger there as if gaining life from his thrumming pulse against her mouth. Mulder smoothed the wet tendrils of her hair as he and Scully stood in each other’s arms, dripping onto the carpet.  

-0-0-0-

Mulder sat on the edge of the bed.  His shirt was off and spread against the heater to dry.  A small stack of clothes from Scully’s overnight bag…a pair of jeans, a t-shirt, a pair of Christmas socks with tiny stockings on them (the only ones he could find) were stacked neatly by the bathroom door.

His phone rang.  It was Skinner.  Sometimes he wondered if he ever slept.  

“Are you two ok?”  

“We’re fine,” Mulder said. “We’re in Pennsylvania.”  

“How’s Scully,” Skinner asked, genuine concern in his voice.

Mulder considered, glancing at the closed door of the bathroom where Scully showered.  “She’s better Skinner.  Still got a long way to go.  Did you fix things with the hospital?

Skinner sniffed. “Yeah.  What went on there, Mulder.  Reports say you kidnapped a nurse?”

“Yeah, well, don’t believe everything you read in the papers Skinman.”

He heard the bathroom door open.  Scully stood in the doorway, toweling off her hair with her left hand.  A fresh puff of steam followed her, and her cheeks were slightly flushed.  She had changed into the t-shirt and jeans, and her skin was dewy from the shower.  He remembered he was shirtless.

“I’ll call you later Skinner.”  He ended the call, tossing the phone on the bed, and stood.  Scully regarded him easily, allowing her eyes to slip down his smooth torso.  She made no attempt to hide her appreciation of him.  This was the father of her child.  He was hers and she was his. Nothing could change that.  

“Give it a minute for the hot water to catch up,” she said huskily.  She crossed in front of him, to the far bed.  “The water pressure is not that great either.”

Mulder retrieved his shirt to put it on, but she stayed his hand.  Mulder looked at her inquisitively, then closed his eyes as she smoothed her left hand up the length of his torso and around to the back of his neck where she pulled him down to her mouth.  

Mulder was solid against her, warm and alive, and her touch seemed to wake him, for a soon as their lips touched, Mulder became emboldened.  One hand nearly encircled her waste and crushed her to him.  His mouth, that talented mouth, finally broke away from ravishing her lips to do similarly to the tender skin of her ear, her throat, the ivory column of her neck.  His kisses were desperate and unrefined; there was a message in every ministration, a word in every touch.  Mulder’s Morse Code tapped into her skin with the passion of a man possessed.   _I love you. I need you.  Don’t leave me.  Don’t ever leave.  Don’t ever die.  Don’t ever scare me like that again._

When he finally released her, she was breathless and a little unsteady, but her eyes were glowing.   She looked down at her damaged arm, the bandage rent.  She looked sheepishly at him.  “I tried to keep it dry; do we have anything?”  

He realized he was staring at her, but he didn’t care.  “Yeah, I actually grabbed some things at the hospital.”  He hesitated, uncertain if she wanted him to help, if she was ok with it. Normally Scully was the doctor in these situations, but she would be working with her opposite hand.  She looked up at him, her eyes large and soft. She sat down on the edge of the bed and held her wrist out to him.  

He took the roll of gauze, tape and scissors from his bag and placed them on the bed.  He sat on the end, turned toward her.  Carefully he snipped away the ruined bandage, revealing the wound underneath.  She didn’t look away.  He held the slender arm in his hands, gently rolling it into the light to get a better look. The slashes were deep and ugly, but the stitches held.  She was healing.  

A lump rose in his throat as he looked at that mangled arm, at the woman who owned it.  Their eyes met over the scars, hers glistening with unspent tears.  “I’m sorry,” she whispered, as a tear escaped down her cheek.  

He looked at her fully.  “Don’t be,” Mulder said quietly, and wiped away the offending tear, allowing his fingers to slip behind her ear, to rest along her hairline.  “You shouldn’t be sorry for anything.”  

He tipped her chin up so she had to look at him.  “What happens now happens to us, not just you or me.  Us.  And what we do about it, we decide together.”  She nodded mutely.

He bowed his head, chewing his lower lip.  “I should have been there when you made that decision.” He swallowed hard, finding it difficult to even speak his son’s name.  “But I won’t fail you again Scully.  You have my word.  I will be here no matter what and to whatever end.”  

A single tear slipped down her cheek.  She stroked the side of his face, looking a bit lost.  “Do you ever miss him Mulder?”  

He gathered her up in his arms, rocking her gently. “Every day, Scully.  I miss him every day.”

-0-0-0-


End file.
